Thomas sat at the head of the long conference table inside the command center, his sharp gaze locked onto the digital display in front of him. A detailed spreadsheet was projected on the main screen, listing potential acquisitions of military hardware—from armored vehicles and missile defense systems to drones and fixed-wing aircraft. Marcus stood beside him, arms crossed, as he analyzed the data with a calculating eye.
"The budget we have from the Blood Coins is more than enough," Marcus said, scrolling through the projections. "If we prioritize land and aerial defense, we can reinforce MOA into something unbreachable."
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Thomas nodded. "We need anti-air defenses in case an external threat presents itself. The Patriots are a good start, but I want close-range missile defense systems covering all critical points. Iron Dome or at least something akin to it."
Marcus smirked. "You’re talking about full-on wartime defenses, not just holding back the dead."
Thomas leaned forward. "We have to think ahead. The apocalypse isn’t just about surviving the undead anymore. Other factions, rogue militaries, or even remnants of the old world government could come knocking. And if they do, we need to be ready."
He tapped a section of the display showing armored reinforcements. "We also need more IFVs and mechanized units. The last wave proved that mobility is just as important as firepower."
Marcus nodded. "We can acquire more M2 Bradleys and LAV-25s. If we want heavier firepower, we could consider adding Leopard 2 tanks."
Before Thomas could respond, the doors to the conference room opened, and Rebecca stepped in, her expression tight.
"Sir, we have a situation with some of the survivors," she announced.
Thomas raised an eyebrow. "What kind of situation?"
Rebecca placed a tablet in front of him, pulling up files on a group of survivors. "Some of the recently processed civilians are causing trouble. They’re protesting against the tier system, claiming it’s unfair."
Thomas glanced at the report, his fingers tapping lightly on the table. "Unfair how?"
Rebecca sighed. "They don’t like being assigned to manual labor. Most of them were internet celebrities before the outbreak—content creators, K-pop idols, influencers. People who made a living through social media. Now that they’re being relegated to cleaning duties, construction, or logistics, they’re not taking it well."
Thomas exhaled, already feeling a headache coming. "So, they thought clout would save them in the apocalypse."
Rebecca smirked slightly. "Essentially. Many of them were rich in the old world, living off sponsorships and ad revenue. But without the internet, that means nothing. Some of them had expected privileges because of their past fame."
Marcus scoffed. "So, what? They thought they’d get penthouse suites and free food while the rest of us actually worked?"
Rebecca nodded. "Pretty much. They’re upset that they’re Tier 3, being forced to do manual labor."
Thomas picked up the tablet and scrolled through the names. Some were former vloggers, Twitch streamers, and TikTok personalities. Others were K-pop and P-pop idols. He recognized a few from pre-apocalypse news cycles—groups that had millions of fans, now reduced to struggling survivors.
He leaned back in his chair. "Have they caused any actual disruptions?"
Rebecca nodded. "Some of them have refused to report for their assignments. Others have been spreading rumors, trying to rally people against the system. We’ve contained it for now, but this could escalate."
Thomas tapped his fingers on the table, considering. "Where are they now?"
Rebecca checked her tablet. "We’ve separated them for now. Some are in holding, others are still in the housing zones, sulking."
Thomas exhaled. "Alright, I want to meet them. Gather the key instigators and bring them here. I want to hear their grievances directly."
Rebecca hesitated. "Are you sure, sir? People like them… they’re used to talking their way out of things."
Thomas smirked. "Then let’s see if their words are worth more than their actions."
Thomas sat behind a metal desk in a dimly lit room, his hands clasped together as he waited. The door opened, and two soldiers escorted in a group of four survivors—two women and two men, all of them appearing out of place in their now ragged clothes. Their eyes held a mixture of defiance and nervousness.
One of them, a woman with long black hair and striking features, crossed her arms as she sat down. She had the aura of someone who was used to being admired. Next to her, a man with dyed blond hair looked annoyed, while the other two—a younger woman and a lean man—remained silent.
Thomas leaned back, studying them.
"Do you know why you’re here?" he asked.
The black-haired woman scoffed. "Because you’re forcing us to do grunt work like we’re some nobodies."
Thomas arched an eyebrow. "And you think you’re not?"
She frowned. "Before all this, I was a global idol. Millions of fans. Sold-out concerts. People worshipped me. And now I’m scrubbing floors."
Thomas exhaled, shaking his head. "Let me make something clear—you were famous in a world that no longer exists. Your fans? They’re either dead or trying to survive. The internet? Gone. Your music? Irrelevant. The only thing that matters now is what you can do to help keep this place running."
The blonde man scoffed. "You act like we’re useless, but we’re stars. People listen to us."
"People used to listen to you," Thomas corrected. "Now, they listen to the ones keeping them alive."
The younger woman spoke up. "But why assign us to manual labor? Can’t we do something else?"
Thomas tilted his head. "What else do you bring to the table? Can you build? Cook? Provide medical care? Handle logistics? Fight? Because if all you can do is dance and entertain, then yes, you’re going to clean floors until you prove you can do something more valuable."
Silence.
The black-haired woman clenched her jaw. "You’re being unfair."
Thomas leaned forward. "No, I’m being practical. This isn’t about who you used to be. It’s about what you can do now. You want to move up? Then prove you’re worth more than just a pretty face."
The blonde man sneered. "And what if we refuse?"
Thomas smirked. "Then you’ll enjoy the privileges of Tier 3—rationed meals, minimal shelter, and the hardest jobs. And if you keep causing trouble, I can always move you lower. So stop acting like a spoiled brat before we kick you out."
The black-haired woman, her defiance faltering, clenched her fists but remained silent. The blonde man scowled but said nothing more. The other two, sensing that arguing further was futile, averted their gazes.
Thomas leaned back, exhaling through his nose. "I’m not here to punish you. I’m giving you a reality check. The world you knew is gone. Status, wealth, fame? None of that matters anymore. What matters is survival. And if you want to be a part of this community, you contribute."
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The two nodded with a defeated expression.
"Thank you—,"
They both left the room and Thomas glanced at Rebecca. "I want to talk to the P-pop and the Kpop idols that we have talked to before the zombie wave. I want to know why there are two idol groups in the MOA complex."
"According to my research, they had an event in this place."
"I see—that makes sense."